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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24371674">Time Meant Nothing</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThetaSigma/pseuds/ThetaSigma'>ThetaSigma</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV), Rocky Horror Picture Show</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Crowley hates America, Humor, M/M, Or at least Texas, Time warp</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 00:28:06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,935</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24371674</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThetaSigma/pseuds/ThetaSigma</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Crowley is sent to America for an assignment, which has zero bright spots. He actually <i>saved</i> a life, bless it all.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <i>The fourth preset on the radio in this shitheap truck is an evangelical preacher. Crowley listens idly for a bit because it is honestly hilarious. “And the snake Did Tempt Eve to the Apple, and Eve did Eateth of the Apple, and the Snake Was Pleased, For now the Man Would be Cast From Paradise. And the Snake Did Rejoice, for he Had Succeeded. But God was Angry at the Snake and at the Man who eateth from the Fruit of the Tree from which he Was Forbade. And so Man was Cast out of Eden and the Snake was Cast out and Doomed to Wiggle.” And Crowley is laughing so hard he’s about to drive off the fucking road. He’s pretty sure he never thought he’d hear a deranged American retelling his origin story, but it’s delightfully insane and he loves it. But then the preacher starts going on about Sending him Money, and Crowley stabs the radio, hoping 5 is better.</i></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>32</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Time Meant Nothing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Columbia is walking down I-45. She’s been walking half the night and all of the morning, thanks to a </span>
  <em>
    <span>stupid fucking fight</span>
  </em>
  <span> with her roommate, Steph, at midnight. She’s not even sure what started it, but it rapidly became about </span>
  <em>
    <span>every</span>
  </em>
  <span> issue they have ever had with each other. Steph brought up the undone dishes, Columbia brought up the stolen clothes, Steph mentioned the sock on the door, Columbia retaliated with the hidden mail, and it spiraled from there to a screaming match and thrown things. Columbia had stormed out and started walking to </span>
  <em>
    <span>think.</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>She’s strolling down I-45 now, the sun hot on her back. She knows it’s a highway, not a sidewalk, but that’s fine -- this section is fairly bare pretty much all the time. One or two cars have passed her per hour. Sometimes the men inside catcall, which would annoy her more if she were paying any attention. But she’s got shit to think about, so it doesn’t. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Distantly, she hears another car. Shitheap of a truck, by the sound of it, but it doesn’t really register yet. It’ll fly by like all the other cars have, and she’ll be able to go back to walking in silence.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Except the truck </span>
  <em>
    <span>slows down,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and now she’s paying attention. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She instinctively doesn’t like the man inside. All she can think of is that he’s not a man, he’s a </span>
  <em>
    <span>snake.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He’s not bad-looking, really, lanky and lean and with his flaming red hair falling around his shoulders. His face seems to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>made</span>
  </em>
  <span> for scowling, and the snake tattoo is kinda edgy and dangerous and a bit sexy, and the sunglasses sorta cement the ‘cool’ look. Still, Columbia is unnerved by him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looks around for a moment, slides the sunglasses down his face, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>winks.</span>
  </em>
  <span> She tries to hide her shudder. His eyes aren’t natural. Yellow with slitted pupils, like a snake.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She swallows against the terror she feels.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stares at her for a moment, and something feels wrong. It feels like time is wrong, and she can’t place why. The music coming from his car has stopped. She doesn’t hear any wildlife or any far off cars. It’s like time just sorta politely stepped aside and went ‘nah, I’ll take a breather, you two have fun’.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She doesn’t like it. It feels wrong, deep inside her, and the way he looks at her is starting to really scare her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He asks something, she doesn’t remember what, she answers, and then she walks off quickly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t make any move to follow. The truck just sits there. Like maybe time stopped it too.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She sees him again ages later, and it freezes her for a second, but that shitheap of a truck flies right by her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She can’t get his eyes or his wink or the way time meant nothing out of her head.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley </span>
  <em>
    <span>hates</span>
  </em>
  <span> most of America. Oh, it has its fun spots: New York City is always good for temptations, for example. Pretty much all he has to do there is wave his arm at some already-existing den of sin and go “Look, let’s go there!” and boom, temptation accomplished. He’d had to spend a bit of time there in the late 60s, and he’s particularly proud of Stonewall. Actually was one of his, although he and Aziraphale had both claimed credit in their memos. Boston’s fun, too, decades and decades of corruption? He’s had a </span>
  <em>
    <span>lot</span>
  </em>
  <span> of fun there in the past. He always did well in Boston: millennia of working for Hell has made him </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> good at corrupt politics.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>California, he’d go to California any day. Warm, nice for a snake like him, and Hollywood… well, they didn’t need his help, but he’d take the credit any day.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But the vast majority of America? Crowley is </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> a fan. Either it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>bitterly</span>
  </em>
  <span> cold (Michigan, Minnesota, Montana, New York state, New England*) or it’s dull as fuck or he’s hit racism central**.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>*He’s well aware Boston is in New England, but he’ll put up with bitterly cold for the fun of Bostonian politics. Even Massachusetts politics in general are just fun to get involved in.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>**Crowley knows he’s a demon and supposed to be all about indiscriminate hate and such, because, well, they’re all bound for Hell that way. But he loathes it so much. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Right now, he’s in Texas. It’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>hot as balls,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and it’s a bit much even for </span>
  <em>
    <span>him.</span>
  </em>
  <span> And he’s been to Hell. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s also 1974, and while it’s been over a century since the Civil War, there are just way too many Confederate flags around. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Frankly, if it were up to him, he’d never set foot in Texas. But Hell gave him an assignment that he couldn’t wriggle out of, and he’s pretty sure he’s going to be discorporated here. His hip-swinging swagger is drawing a lot of </span>
  <em>
    <span>very negative</span>
  </em>
  <span> attention. It’s not even something he has control over. He wants to shout at all the men who are eyeing him with revulsion, “I’m a fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>snake,</span>
  </em>
  <span> of course I don’t have the hang of these stupid </span>
  <em>
    <span>legs.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> But he doesn’t, just smirks and swaggers and is effortlessly cool, so he’s just about hanging on to this corporation. Unless the fucking heat gets him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aziraphale couldn’t even come this time, and what’s the </span>
  <em>
    <span>point</span>
  </em>
  <span> of these stupid assignments if not giving the two of them an excuse to meet up, maybe book a room for a night or two….</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s driving now, down some fucking endless road with fuck-all to look at because he’s between cities. He thinks it’s I-45, but what the fuck does he care? And it’s not even his beloved Bentley, because there was no way he could get the Bentley here by the time he needed to complete the assignment. It’s a fucking pickup truck, because of course it is. The rental has a gun rack and actual bullet holes. Fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>Texas.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s just endless fucking road and the radio blaring, some rock station that the truck was tuned to Satan knows when and then the knobs broke, so he can’t even scan for a new one. The bloody truck was rented to him with five preset radio stations.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Number 1 is the rock station. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Number 2 is a sports station of some kind, endlessly and disturbingly </span>
  <em>
    <span>breathlessly</span>
  </em>
  <span> discussing last night’s football match. Crowley, for the three minutes he endures it, is fairly baffled by the commentary until he remembers Americans called proper football </span>
  <em>
    <span>soccer.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He has zero clue what the rules of this bizarre game are, who any of the discussed players and teams are, and what the fuck a </span>
  <em>
    <span>touchdown</span>
  </em>
  <span> is. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Number 3 is a talk radio show with some enormous prick who blamed everything wrong in the country on blacks, Jews, women, gays, and Mexicans, not necessarily in that order. It changed based on what he was shouting about. Crowley nearly stabbed a hole in the already broken radio changing that station. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Number 4 is an evangelical preacher. Crowley listens idly for a bit because it is honestly </span>
  <em>
    <span>hilarious.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “And the snake </span>
  <em>
    <span>Did</span>
  </em>
  <span> Tempt Eve to the Apple, and Eve </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> Eateth of the Apple, and the Snake </span>
  <em>
    <span>Was</span>
  </em>
  <span> Pleased, For now the Man Would be </span>
  <em>
    <span>Cast</span>
  </em>
  <span> From Paradise. And the Snake </span>
  <em>
    <span>Did</span>
  </em>
  <span> Rejoice, for he Had </span>
  <em>
    <span>Succeeded. </span>
  </em>
  <span>But God was Angry at the Snake and at the Man who eateth from the Fruit of the Tree from which he Was Forbade. And so Man was </span>
  <em>
    <span>Cast</span>
  </em>
  <span> out of Eden and the Snake was </span>
  <em>
    <span>Cast</span>
  </em>
  <span> out and </span>
  <em>
    <span>Doomed</span>
  </em>
  <span> to Wiggle.” And Crowley is laughing </span>
  <em>
    <span>so hard</span>
  </em>
  <span> he’s about to drive off the fucking road. He’s pretty sure he never thought he’d hear a deranged American retelling his origin story, but it’s delightfully </span>
  <em>
    <span>insane</span>
  </em>
  <span> and he loves it. But then the preacher starts going on about </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sending</span>
  </em>
  <span> him Money, and Crowley stabs the radio, hoping 5 is better.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Number 5 is a country station. Crowley gets about one minute into the twangy monstrosity before he decides to go back to 4 to see if the preacher stopped talking about sending money and is back on some terrible retelling of the Bible, but he’s currently speaking in tongues and Crowley gives up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He selects 1 and resolves to listen to </span>
  <em>
    <span>rock.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’d miracle it to another one, but what does </span>
  <em>
    <span>he</span>
  </em>
  <span> know of American radio stations? Fuck all, that’s what. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Seriously, </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck Texas.</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s starting to wonder if he missed a turn of something, because what the fuck. He’s been driving for what feels like forever without </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He doesn’t see how he could </span>
  <em>
    <span>have</span>
  </em>
  <span> missed a turn, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>how much longer?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fuck America. It’s pointlessly </span>
  <em>
    <span>huge.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He misses England, where everything is close by, and he misses his Bentley, which can go a hell of a lot faster than this stupid pickup. The pickup is completely unfazed by his threats and chugs along at 55mph. He swears it’s laughing at him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And then he sees her. She’s short, skinny, in very short shorts and a tight top, with short red hair and </span>
  <em>
    <span>vibrant</span>
  </em>
  <span> makeup. She’s walking down the side of the road. He slows to a stop, not out of any particular interest in the girl but because he’s hoping she knows how much fucking longer until he hits Galveston.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And then Crowley sees </span>
  <em>
    <span>him.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He’s creeping closer to the girl, and Crowley knows he’s not about to ask her for directions. He knows evil when he sees it. The girl looks at Crowley, and he slides his glasses down his nose. He winks at her before snapping his fingers and stopping time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Everything around the two of them freezes, and he says, in as friendly a tone as he can manage, “Hey, I haven’t missed Galveston, have I?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She gives him a look like he’s stupid. “You in the ocean yet? Then no. Galveston is an island.” And she saunters off, apparently completely unaware of the (very likely) serial killer* frozen in a crouch some twenty feet behind her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
  <em>
    <span>Some time later, he reads about a body found in what was termed the ‘Texas Killing Fields’, right about where he’d been in that pickup. The woman’s body they found had had blonde hair, and he thinks grimly that he probably saved the redhead’s life. Then he figures that’s staying out of his report to Hell. He has a justification ready to go, though. The man was already definitely going to Hell, but that woman wasn’t. Keep her alive, and she may yet end up down below. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley just stays there for quite a while, waiting until she’s so far away that the creep won’t be able to catch up, then snaps his fingers again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Time starts up again, and he drives off. He passes the girl some thirty minutes later -- good, she’d gotten </span>
  <em>
    <span>far </span>
  </em>
  <span>-- and she gives his pickup (and him) an odd look. He waves cheerfully and keeps going.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Some days later:</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>On the way back to London, he thinks to himself that this entire trip was a huge waste. The assignment had been a colossal waste of time. He’d actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>saved</span>
  </em>
  <span> a life.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Frankly, the only good thing about it had been that song that came on the radio. He starts snapping his fingers and sings under his breath, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“She keeps her Moet et Chandon in her pretty cabinet. ‘Let them eat cake,’ she says just like Marie Antoinette. A built-in remedy for Krushchev and Kenedy....”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He makes a mental note to look into this Queen band when he gets back to London and has gotten over the entire Texas thing.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This fic comes directly from the Rocky Horror Picture Show song, <i>Time Warp</i>, which has Columbia sing:<br/><i>Well I was walking down the street<br/>Just a having a think<br/>When a snake of a guy gave me an evil wink<br/>He shook-a me up, he took me by surprise<br/>He had a pick up truck and the devil's eyes<br/>He stared at me and I felt a change<br/>Time meant nothing, never would again</i><br/>And I listened to that and went, "Snake of a guy, devil's eyes, time meant nothing? CLEARLY CROWLEY." And then somehow it evolved into a fic.</p>
<p>This is another of those fics that I would assume requires basically no research and required WAY MORE than I would have thought. It took me two hours to decide where on Earth and WHEN RHPS actually takes place. Then I ended up researching Texas roads and major events in Texas. Then I researched which Queen songs would be on the radio then and fiddled with the timeline to make everything fit.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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